


Closer Than You

by BringtheKaos



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: 1950s era, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Play, Frottage, Healing Sex, I hope, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Movie, Switches, Switching, That Time In Malta, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff, a smorgasporn if you will, and so SO much sex, and they just need some alone time, and who bottoms, both in who doms, handjobs, its a smorgasbord of porn, literal switching, much like Joe and Nicky, oh I forgot playfully blasphemous banter, strap in cuz it has everything, the narrative perspective, they're traumatized okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 14:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30123960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BringtheKaos/pseuds/BringtheKaos
Summary: Before he even registered what had happened, Joe was being bodily spun around and pressed to the opposite wall, Nicky bracketing him in from behind with arms and hips and thighs.“I know what you’re doing, and you can go ahead and mark it a success,” Nicky hissed in Arabic, his breath hot and enticing against the shell of Joe’s ear. He shivered, the rolling consonants and lilting syllables of Nicky’s unique Arabic tongue manifesting as a growl and a purr, going straight to Joe’s gut.“Now I’m going to take my time with you..."—or—This author's take onthat time in Malta.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 105





	Closer Than You

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from William Black's _[Closer Than You.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qcrh6xcbGE)_
> 
> I've decided not to provide translations, because pretty much everything is a common term of endearment, or can be gleaned from context. I can add them later if it seems to be an issue.
> 
> Also, this starts rather angsty, and they both are clearly suffering from some PTSD. I didn't tag for any of this because it's all very brief, mostly mentioned in flashback, and not at all the focus of the fic, but... this Malta holiday is their way of healing. And uh... to heal, you first gotta be hurt. So.  
>  **Trigger warnings!**  
>  Some descriptions of bodily injury, PTSD/panic attacks, mentions of the Holocaust.

They’d been needing a break for a long time. It had become painfully clear in Nicky’s body language that he was nearing the end of his rope; his jaw was constantly clenched, his brows were always pulled inward, and there was a darkness to his sea foam eyes that Joe hadn’t seen simmering below the depths for several decades. He seemed unable to relax, in a way that rarely plagued Nicky; even with Joe’s arms around him, even with their lips joined, it seemed there was a weight tipping his scales, one he was unable to shrug.

And Joe knew he was equally short—after 850 years, he was intimately familiar with his own tells (namely because Nicky was the first to [lovingly] bring them to his attention). He’d retreated into himself, hardly speaking except when entreated, and becoming shut-off and distant. Surrounded by so much death, destruction, and sheer inhuman viciousness, he found that he was having trouble appreciating the little things—warm espresso in the morning, the high sun on his skin, the beauty of a quiet day filled with gentle breezes and birdsong. They’d been going, going, _going_ basically since Booker joined them. First had been the conclusion of the War of 1812–just because a new immortal had joined them didn’t mean the cogs of violence stopped turning relentlessly forward. Then they’d stayed in France for a bit, worry and empathy for their new brother forcing them to orbit his world as they watched it crumble and fall around him.

After that came their stint in the American Civil War. That alone had struck a chord with both Nicky and Joe—brothers fighting brothers, families split and destroying themselves. It dredged up the black tar of memories attached to the crusades, the feelings of despair and helplessness (as well as a dose of guilt on Nicky’s part). At this point in their lives, they were comfortable in their respective positions in that regard—Nicky had reconciled that he had been _led_ to believe the disgusting lies he was fed, but that his actions were still his own. He knew Joe forgave him, wholly and completely, he accepted that forgiveness, but also vowed to never forget the lessons he learned. Which was why the horrors of the Civil War stung like salt in the eye.

There had been a small stretch of time after that when the Guard had focused on humanitarian work adjacent to the Spanish-American war. They hadn’t been actively _fighting_ as they had in the Civil War, but sometimes cleaning up after the chaos was worse—baring witness to the shattered families, the heartbroken mothers, and the wasteland of decimated countrysides.

Then came the big one... a war so vast and terrifying that it shook even the infallible Andromache to her very bones—World War I. Not only was it quickly one of the largest wars they’d ever seen, but the horrifying machines of war that humans had devised highlighted rampant inequalities—men went up against canons with handguns, cavalries charged on armored tanks, men and horses alike crumbling beneath the ever-pressing steel wall of heartlessness.

After that, the two of them had decided they both wanted to undertake something _good,_ something that would benefit everyone in the long run—so they had both enrolled at Queen’s University in Belfast, Nicky for nursing, Joe for psychology. It had been a break of sorts, but their time there was burdened by nonstop study, and the worry that they were wasting their time learning when they could be _helping_. Surprisingly, it had been Booker who reassured them the noblest undertaking any of them could set their minds to was the consumption of knowledge, and that, like them, that knowledge would be infinite.

And just in time to put their new degrees to depressingly good use, the world descended into yet more chaos. The Second World War matched its predecessor in malevolence, but what pierced the entire team’s hearts was what had brought it on. Not since the crusades had Joe seen anything quite so inhumane, so completely _evil—_ men, women, and children rounded up like cattle and exterminated. The Guard was in the thick of it long before it rose to involving the Allied forces, attempting all they could to smuggle the innocent to safety as bureaucrats took their sweet time deciding if these lives were worth war. And it very nearly broke all of them, the weight of it all.

With all their collective millennia of fighting under their belts, it was difficult to believe it was over, truly _over,_ even when the Reichstag was captured and Berlin surrendered. It was easy to fall into an encompassing panic, the expectation that the next travesty was right around the corner.

Which was why it had been Andy that suggested Joe and Nicky take a breather. It wasn’t that she didn’t want the group together, in fact that was usually the main objective (especially after Quynh). She argued that the only solace the two of them could really ever get was in each other, and always being on-guard, sleeping in their day clothes on old, collapsed sofas in the same room as her and Book... it wasn’t very conducive to healing. She promised that they would only be one country away, likely drinking their sorrows away on their own beach, maybe Crete or the like.

Nicky had been vehemently opposed until Booker decided to go ahead and find lodgings for himself and Andy, thereby providing Nicky with a solid contact address and phone number so that he could talk to them whenever he felt the need.

And so it had all spiraled from there; Andy and Booker wrangled an incredibly stylish mint and white station wagon (that Joe couldn’t stop laughing at) and started driving from Vienna to Greece. Joe and Nicky opted for the train, and that was when Joe bore witness to just how bad it had really become for both of them.

Early on in the journey, someone’s luggage had been dropped from an overhead storage rack, and the loud _crack_ it made as it hit the ground had flashes of machinegun fire popping in Joe’s ears, visions of blood and bone bursting over the backs of his eyelids. He’d yelped and cowered, shying to the side and almost knocking an elderly man to the ground.

Then that evening, when he and Nicky were in the dining car, the hostess had asked for Nicky’s drink order, and Nicky was completely zoned-out, his mile-long stare out the window slightly statuesque and haunting. Joe had gently nudged his arm to bring him back to reality, and Nicky had gasped as if in pain, slapping Joe’s hand away and jerking so hard that his head hit the window.

It was clear then that whatever tightrope they’d been walking for the last century had snapped, and in the ensuing free fall, Joe had decided that he was going to _fix this._ Of course deep down, he knew there was no fixing it, not really, not when simple luggage falling now and always would remind him of the atrocities he’d seen, but... he was going to try his damndest to flood these memories of gore and death with new ones of love and intimacy and _comfort_ , but above all, _safety._ The point of this as-of-yet undecided stay in Malta was to concrete the idea, in both of their minds, that _we are safe. You are, I am. We’re safe, here with each other._

It was going to take some work, but as Nicky sheepishly smiled at him, reaching for his retreating arm and grasping it tight as he whispered a pleading _“forgive me, light of my life,”_ in Arabic, that he was maddeningly up for the challenge.

* * *

Despite the immortality, Nicky was capable of drowning, like anyone else. But he’d never done it on land before—a danger he felt in stark danger of as he turned on the bow of the ferry from Marina di Modica to Malta, eyes falling on the vision that was Joe, head turned blissfully up toward the sky, skin shining like a new penny, and breathtaking silhouette visible through his off-white gauze shirt like the Roman statues of old. Nicky gasped aloud as he beheld the sight, thankful that the sound was swallowed up by the crashing of roaring waves against the boat’s hull. And, as if sensing Nicky’s intense gaze, which may very well have been the case after so many years of taking note of it, Joe’s eyes opened to rest upon Nicky, that easy, always-loaded grin spreading across his incredibly kissable lips and making the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way that Nicky adored.

Very viciously, Nicky felt the urge to tackle him to the swaying floor of the little ferry and take his tongue into his lips, his teeth, grinding their bodies together without a care for who saw. They hadn’t really had the time or privacy for anything more than frantic touches, hands shoved into pants and hurried, rushed kisses in such a very long time, never mind for real, fully-bared, skin-tingling, mind-numbing sex. Come to think of it, he couldn’t even recall the last time that had happened, and that alone was a tragedy.

But they still had to be careful. The world was changing, it was true, but not that much, not that quickly, and they were always wary of their small intimacies in public. While humanity was woefully ignorant in general, they were, unfortunately, sickeningly observant when they needed a reason to be violent. So, his fingers twitching at the absence of Joe’s, Nicky vowed to save it for the privacy of their hotel room as he joined Joe by the railing and watched his slightly grown-out curls as they moved in the wind like puffy clouds.

They had opted for a slightly nicer hotel this time—as a rule, lower-quality hotels were generally a safer bet, as they tended to turn a blind eye to the goings-on behind closed doors and let their tenants do as they pleased for the duration of their stay. Thus, a couple of crime-fighting immortals could usually stroll in with bloodied clothing riddled with bullet holes, and mum was the word.

But they weren’t _planning_ on taking any bullets during this trip (“no one _plans_ to take a bullet,” Booker had said with a chuckle as he helped them peruse brochures and book their room), so they had opted for something a little more upscale. It wasn’t anything spectacular, there wasn’t even air con in it, despite the buildings around it having upgraded years ago. It was a few blocks from the beach, but still close enough that the crashing waves could be heard at night, when the traffic died down and the city went quiet.

Joe heaved out a sigh as he dropped his duffel bag on the second bed (it was just a habit they’d gotten into—booking a room with two beds, even though they had no intention of using the second. It was an ingrained safeguard, ensuring that no hotel staff started to _suspect,_ didn’t turn violent _)_ , but Nicky could tell that he was anything but relaxed.

Joe’s stance was still rigid, shoulders held a fraction higher than was natural and his right thumb _tap-tap-tapping_ away on his upper thigh. It was a tell Nicky had noted very early on in their relationship, one that had persisted through the ages.

“What’s wrong, my heart?” he asked in his native tongue, sauntering up behind Joe, sliding his hands around his waist to interlock his fingers in front of his belly and resting his chin on Joe’s shoulder.

The rigidity in Joe’s stance immediately dulled, but didn’t dissipate, as he brought a hand up to rest atop Nicky’s. Nicky began to sway a bit, encouraging Joe to loosen up with his movements and delighting when he did.

“Nothing, I just...” Joe began, inhaling hard, holding it, and then eventually releasing it in a sigh that sounded only half-forced. “Feel like... there’s... bugs in my veins. Jittery. Like I’m going to wake up any second, and all this... all this will just be...” he trailed off, his voice going weak and broken.

Nicky inhaled of Joe’s hair, pressing a kiss to his temple and squeezing him tighter, pity flooding him. He knew, intimately, what Joe was feeling, because he felt it too—a deeply rooted fear that this sudden peace was false, a figment of his overstressed and over-exhausted mind. He knew it was hovering just below the surface of his own psyche, waiting to boil over and wreak havoc in his already-frayed nerves, but it appeared his own threshold was currently much higher than Joe’s.

Nicky knew what Joe needed when he was like this—he needed movement. He needed to work that staticky feeling out of his muscles, out of his head. He couldn’t just seamlessly transition from _go, go, go, keep running,_ to full-stop without some kind of buffer, something to slowly bring him down.

“How about a run, then?” Nicky whispered directly into Joe’s ear, noting the shudder it wrought. If he had his way, he knew exactly how he’d choose to get Joe’s blood pumping, but that was too... demanding. It required thought, and consideration, and focus, at least the way Joe did it. He was attentive to Nicky’s every sound, every little twitch and sigh. And right now, Joe needed something mindless, something repetitive and simple.

“A run on the beach, in the afternoon sun, ocean spray and heat on our skin?” Nicky went on, continuing to sway with his love.

Joe hummed his approval, head tipping back to rest on Nicky’s own broad shoulder and eyes sliding closed.

“You read me like an open book, habibi,” he groaned, hand twitching on the back of Nicky’s.

“My favorite one, Yusuf,” Nicky replied with a smile, pressing one more kiss to Joe’s temple for good measure before slowly pulling away.

They changed clothes in companionable silence, filled a few water bottles, and set out for the nearby beach. It was a little too packed for their liking—a plethora of sprawling tourists jam-packed beneath a jungle of brightly colored umbrellas—but they weren’t planning on staying on his particular beach long, anyway.

It was perfectly numbing, maintaining a healthy jog, side-by-side, listening to one another’s synced footfalls and heavy breaths, feeling the rushing heartbeat and muscle strain. They traversed the length of the beach in minutes, then wound their way up time-worn paths in the rocky cliffs of the shoreline. Nicky’s mind wandered as they ran, images of this little paradise from bygone years flashing as he passed. _Here,_ a little farm he and Joe had served on, tilling crops and tending to livestock. _There,_ the very cliff face where he and Yusuf had been sparring when they shared their first tentative kiss. And _just up ahead,_ the Grand Harbour where, on a sweltering July day sometime in the late 1200s, Aragonese and Angevin fleets clashed, disrupting the peace Yusuf, Nicolò, and their newfound friends Andromache and Quynh had found, and calling them all to action.

Nicky shook his head as the sounds of war raged instantly in his mind—the archaic ringing of steel blades blending together with the more recent dull, soulless, repetitive _thud_ of artillery fire and far-off screams. He very nearly lost his footing, sliding to a halt and throwing a hand out to Joe to let him know he was stopping, but Joe already had.

“Sorry,” Nicky breathed, doubling over to set his water bottle down at his feet and propping his sweaty palms on his knees so that he could just breathe.

“Don’t be sorry,” Joe’s voice soothed, his hand coming to rest on Nicky’s back and rubbing slightly. “What is it?”

Nicky shook his head again, the gory flashes of splintering bodies still dripping through his consciousness like the sweat from his brow.

“Nothing, just... the harbor,” he managed in a rasping pant, raising a hand to wipe the sweat away.

“Oh,” Joe responded quietly, his hand stilling for a moment on Nicky’s back. “Let’s head back.”

“We don’t have to, I know you needed this,” Nicky said, forcing himself upright and rapidly blinking in the hopes it would clear the memories.

“I got what I needed,” Joe replied, not removing his hand from Nicky and setting him in a very knowing, very soft gaze. “Now let’s go back, take a nice scalding shower, and go have dinner.”

Just the thought of sitting on some stone veranda across from Joe, evening breeze on his skin and easy smile on his face had Nicky grinning like a sap.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.”

Their shared shower was decadent and far more indulgent than they typically allowed of themselves. That was the thing about hotels; they hardly ever ran out of hot water, so the two of them could spend hours under the piping hot spray, steaming up their entire hotel room as they took their time working sudsy washcloths over each other’s cherished skin. Lathering each other’s hair, scraping gentle fingertips over scalps. Kissing languidly, unhurriedly, letting their collective arousal simmer back out, because that wasn’t the point.

After, Nicky sat Joe down on the edge of the bathtub and quietly went about trimming his beard and his curls. He didn’t take too much off, never too much, lest he run out of handfuls to grip when... when he needed to. But it was just enough to make him look fresh and polished, to make him the eye-catching spectacle that he naturally was, when they walked down the street to the nearest restaurant.

And catch eyes he did, Nicky noted, as the two of them were sat across from each other at a wrought iron table on the restaurant’s patio, orange light from the sunset bathing Joe’s skin and giving him an almost angelic glow.

There wasn’t much to discuss as they ate and drank their fill—how does one even begin to parse together the horror of 100 years of war? Not to mention they had to be wary of being overheard, so, ankles touching under the table, they exchanged mild small talk—“the ocean looked pleasant today, we should swim tomorrow,” “we passed where that farm used to be, I wouldn’t mind hiking back up there again,” “the wine is spectacular, like that one we had in... Minsk?” “No, Prague.”

To anyone else, it would seem like stale filler-conversation, but to Nicky, it was the harmonic and comfortable ringing of church bells, a call to faith. Not the capitol Faith, no, but Nicky’s true religion: Yusuf al-Kaysani. The sound of his voice, even when covering the world’s most mundane topics, could soothe any ache, wash away any anxiety. Nicky could, and had many times, close his eyes and let Joe’s voice lull him to sleep, cleanse away all his worries.

So, when the sound of a gunshot rang out, Nicky panicked, reaching to his hip where his longsword usually was, and despairing when he remembered it wasn’t on him. His vision tunneled as adrenaline flooded him, and he frantically began looking around for the source of the shot...

“Hey, hey, _hey,”_ Joe’s voice said calmly, his hand clasping Nicky’s wrist _hard,_ hard enough to get his attention.

“It was a cork, my love,” he said, switching to Arabic. “Just a cork. From a wine bottle. Alright?”

Nicky calmed, letting out his breath in a forced gasp and realizing every pair of eyes within a twenty foot radius was staring at him.

He groaned, his adrenaline morphing into humiliation, and buried his head in his hands.

“Pardonami, pardonami, scusami _tanto,”_ he mumbled into his palms.

“It’s fine, Nicolò, these people were not spared the blanket of war, they understand. It’s alright,” Joe’s voice whispered, a balm soothing over the embarrassment, his thumb gently moving back and forth on Nicky’s forearm. “Why don’t we skip dessert, and head back to the hotel? Sound good?”

“Sì,” was all Nicky could muster, still attempting to shrink back into his chair, away from the prying eyes of those around him.

Nicky felt Joe’s worrying eyes on him the entire walk back to the hotel, felt his vibrating anxious energy from even feet away, and he hated that he had been (at least part of) the cause. He hated that the progress their little jog had made in putting a dent in Joe’s tension had been eradicated with one little flinch. He didn’t want Joe to worry; he wanted him to relax, to heal, to take comfort in the knowledge that, at least for some small measure, they were safe.

So, once securely behind the locked door of their hotel room, Nicky sighed, barking out, “take your shirt off and lie on the bed,” in a much more demanding tone than he’d intended.

Joe’s brows shot up comically high, and his smile simply shined.

“We’re abandoning subtlety this evening, I see?” he asked, but gripped the hem of his shirt and ripped it up and off in one smooth motion.

Despite seeing his love’s bared and enticing chest a thousand times, a thousand ways, Nicky’s mouth went dry at the sight and his fingers itched. He grinned, realizing how it had sounded, and took a single long step toward Joe, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Not for that, amore,” he whispered, following it by sneaking a hand around Joe’s waist to take an ass cheek in a firm, suggestive grip. Joe yelped, the muscle clenching under Nicky’s palm and stirring the pit of arousal that had been simmering in his gut since they stepped foot on this island. “If I were trying to seduce you, you’d know.”

“Is that so?” Joe replied playfully, first kneeling on the edge of the bed, and then allowing himself to plop face-first into the bedding dramatically, pulling a snicker from Nicky.

“Sì,” snapped Nicky matter-of-factly as he reached into his own duffel bag to procure a vial of coconut oil, then prowled over Joe, seating himself atop his thighs, bracketing them with his own.

“Thought you said you _weren’t_ trying to seduce me,” Joe mumbled into the pillow, and Nicky pinched his ass playfully with a muttered “hush, you fiend.”

He then set to work, pouring a healthy trail of oil all down Joe’s spine, giggling as Joe shuddered and huffed an indignant little “ooh, cold.”

Nicky warmed it quickly, spreading it over Joe’s broad, well-muscled back with gentle, sweeping movements. Joe groaned with contentment, following it with a sigh that released so much tension from his body that Nicky physically felt it, like a deflating balloon.

“There you go, ya hayati,” Nicky whispered, beginning to press his thumbs into the erector muscles to the right and left of Joe’s spine. He had taken a single class on massage therapy back in Belfast, and it had mostly been disregarded as a hack treatment, even then. But he treasured the knowledge he’d gained on the science of touch, and how he could more effectively use his touch to bring bliss to his love.

He took his time as the blue-tinted light of evening slowly crept into the room, working into a more steady pressure as he went and reveling in the softness and warmth of Joe’s skin. His flesh seemed to hold heat even hours after he’d been in the sun, a fact that Nicky had used to his advantage many times over the centuries, snuggling up to him and holding on like a vice. Just the minimal time they’d spent in the sun that afternoon had brought the subtle little freckles on Joe’s shoulders to the surface, and Nicky had to physically stop himself from leaning in to press a kiss to each and every one.

While this was meant to be a relaxing undertaking for Joe, Nicky found it just as hypnotic—searching out all those little knots and places of tension, and working over them with his thumbs, his knuckles, and receiving appreciative and satisfied little mewls in return. Sometimes Joe would whine, especially when Nicky focused on that trouble spot between his right scapula and his spine (being right handed, his right was his wielding hand, his trigger hand, but it was also his paint brush hand, demanding precision and stability), and Nicky would ease up, coming back to it in waves so that Joe could adjust to the pressure, allowing it to work the last of his tightness away.

So it was no surprise then, after Nicky had begun humming an ancient Arabic lullaby Joe had taught him sometime during the Second Crusade, that Joe began lightly snoring, his body gone completely slack beneath Nicky’s attentions.

Smiling triumphantly, Nicky slowed his movements, eventually coming to a stop and just leaving his palms flat on Joe’s upper back, simply enjoying feeling those rhythmic breaths beneath his hands. For nearly a hundred years, these hands had put pressure on wounds, stitched up torn flesh, pulled triggers and grenade pins. They’d spent too much time blood-covered and shaking, and not doing what they were designed to do, what they were shaped by God for—intertwining in Joe’s. And conversely, Joe’s skin had spent too much time ripped open, too much time covered in grime, sweat, and gore. Joe was Nicky’s rock, his pillar, the altar at which he prayed, and to see him crumbled beneath the weight of war after war... it was as physically painful as any stab wound, any bullet or cannon ball.

Suddenly the mere feet between them was as the expanse of oceans, and Nicky desperately needed him, needed to be close to him, needed to feel that lifeblood thumping, reassuring and melodic, against his skin. So, as quietly and carefully as he could, Nicky extricated himself from on top of Joe, removed his own shirt and pants (considering for a moment removing Joe’s, but deciding he didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want to disturb his relaxation), and went to open the door to the little personal terrace. It might allow bugs inside, but it would also flood the room with cool evening air, the scent and sounds of the sea, which was a nostalgic atmosphere they both found homely.

With a deep, finally calm breath, Nicky pulled the duvet from the second bed (as Joe was currently sprawled on top of theirs), crawled delicately in next to him, covered them both with the off-white duvet, and pulled Joe’s arm over his own chest. He clicked the bedside lamp off, dousing them in moonlight-tinted darkness, and turned slightly to press a kiss to Joe’s temple.

“Sogni d’oro, sole mio,” he whispered, receiving a soft grumble in return.

* * *

Joe came to slowly, groggily, feeling like he’d slept for a month. His right hand was tingling with numbness where it was curled beneath his pillow, and his other was thrown haphazardly over a clearly still dead-to-the-world Nicky. Joe groaned quietly into the nape of Nicky’s neck, stretching out his legs and feeling the soreness in his back that had been plaguing him for basically a year now completely gone. He grinned, inhaling of Nicky’s hair, of the tea tree hotel shampoo that complimented the scent of Nicky’s clean, familiar skin wonderfully. He could practically still feel the pass of Nicky’s deftly skilled hands over his aching back, feel the pressure of Nicky on top of him, around him, like a security blanket.

That was Nicky, though, a caretaker through-and-through. And while Joe appreciated it beyond measure, he also knew that this was how Nicky coped with stress—offering up massages, cooking meals, cleaning. He threw his heart and soul into doting on others, and rarely thought of himself. It was healthy, to an extent, in that it gave Nicky something to _do—_ idle hands, as they say—but sometimes, just sometimes, Joe would like Nicky to think about himself, put himself first, his own needs and desires.

Joe had meant to return the lovely massage, he really had. As soon as Nicky had spread that oil on his skin, Joe had it all planned out—he was going to allow Nicky to massage him for a little while, then he was going to switch their positions and lovingly work all the tension from his love, and then he was going to kiss him stupid, and after that, well... who knew.

But it had just been so relaxing, and the next thing Joe knew, he was waking up to soft morning light, billowing curtains, and the sound of crashing waves and far-off laughter.

Better late than never.

But first, he rolled over and hauled the corded phone from the side table to his ear, called the concierge, and ordered an extravagant breakfast for the two of them, to be delivered directly to the room. If Nicky was going to spoil him, he was going to spoil Nicky right back.

Turning back over and replacing his arm where it had been over Nicky’s ribs, Joe set to work repaying his beloved for the massage. He started with simple kisses, first to Nicky’s nape, then into his hair, then that little ticklish spot just behind his ear. Nicky stirred, and Joe noted the breathy puff through his nose that signified he was smiling, trying not to laugh.

“Are you awake, my heart?” Joe whispered, continuing to press kisses to the side of Nicky’s neck.

“No,” Nicky replied playfully, his legs shifting against Joe’s and his hand grasping Joe’s wrist. “I think you better keep trying.”

“With pleasure,” he growled, propping up on his other elbow to lean over Nicky and line his jaw and cheek with kisses.

Nicky descended into a fit of giggles, eventually reaching up and pushing Joe’s chin away. “ _Stop_ , your beard tickles!”

“Oh it does, does it?” he replied, intentionally dragging his chin down Nicky’s shoulder, his arm.

“Don’t make me push you out of this bed, Yusuf, you know I will,” Nicky laughed, shoving Joe with an elbow that had very little conviction to it.

Joe settled back down, hooking his chin over Nicky’s shoulder.

“No you won’t,” he said with a smile, and Nicky angled his head until their lips were barely touching.

“No, _I won’t,”_ he said assuredly, pressing their lips together long and slow, his hand migrating up to adoringly cradle Joe’s head.

Without even trying, Joe deepened the kiss, pressing in harder to feel Nicky’s lovely, puffy lips against his, sneaking his tongue against his teeth and delving in when Nicky opened up invitingly.

Arousal flooded Joe as Nicky kissed him back with his whole body—torso twisting to face him more squarely, hips canting back to press into him.

“Do you know...” Joe began, caressing over Nicky’s chest with his hand held flat, barely teasing over a nipple. Nicky whimpered into the kiss that followed, hips bucking minutely.

“I was going to return the favor, last night,” Joe went on, reaching Nicky’s belly button and circling it.

“Mmmf?” Nicky asked, eloquently.

“But you...” Joe paused, pulling back to look Nicky in the eyes, reveling in the way they widened minutely as he followed the waistband of Nicky’s boxer briefs with his pointer finger. “You and your _hands_ , love,” he went on, barely dipping his pinky finger below the waistband and feeling a tingle down his spine at the breathy little gasp it earned him. “Bring me so much _pleasure...”_

With that, he plunged inside and took Nicky between his thumb and pointer finger, torturously lightly pulling all the way to the head, sliding his foreskin along his length. Nicky wasn’t completely hard yet, but he throbbed and twitched in Joe’s grasp, swelling by the second...

That was until a knock filled the room, accompanied by a quiet call of “room service!”

 _“Cazzo...”_ Nicky cursed, his body going stone-tense and a pitiful, adorable growl of frustration leaving his lips.

Joe smiled ruefully, pressing one more small, chaste kiss to his love’s lips.

“That’ll be breakfast,” he said, hushed and apologetic, releasing Nicky’s cock and patting him once on the stomach.

“Breakfast?” Nicky asked, the look of chagrin on his face morphing into one of curiosity.

“Sì,” Joe said, pulling away and tossing back the comforter to find he was still in his trousers from the night before. “Coming!” he called in the general direction of the door.

“Any later, and we both would be,” Nicky purred, biting his lip for flair.

Joe snickered, grabbing an errant pillow and chucking it at Nicky’s face, which he skillfully deflected.

“Hush, you,” he said, knowing he was now going to answer the door with a magnificent blush on his face.

An impeccably dressed waiter rolled a polished silver tray into the room, and Joe instantly regretted the amount he’d ordered.

There were frittatas, turkey bacon, pastries, fresh fruit and cream, toast, shakshuka, orange juice, coffee... enough to feed the entire guard. Nicky’s eyebrows shot up his face as a look of impressed shock settled over him, and Joe simply shrugged, fishing a few lira from his bag and handing them to the waiter as he left.

“Are we expecting company?” Nicky asked as Joe returned to the bed and sat on the edge, eyeing the tray with bafflement.

“I blame sleepy Joe,” Joe said with a smile, and Nicky erupted into laughter, squeezing his bicep once in understanding.

“I blame sleepy Joe too,” he agreed, leaning in to press a kiss to Joe’s cheek. He rearranged as he sat up, pulling a face Joe recognized as uncomfortable, and he was instantly reminded of what they’d been doing just before breakfast arrived. He allowed his eyes to hungrily rake down Nicky’s chest to where the duvet was puddled in his lap.

“Do you... do you want me to...”

Nicky smiled warmly, his eyes shining with adoration as he rested his hand on Joe’s forearm.

“No, ya hayati,” he said, turning back to look at the steaming tray. “Let’s not let it get cold. We have _plenty_ of time.”

Joe felt a swell of love and pride, leaning in to place one more kiss on Nicky’s lips, and while he did feel guilty for the interruption... it gave him an idea.

The point of this holiday was to heal, to process the trauma of the incessant wars, and to take comfort in one another. He’d seen it, time and again, whenever anything remotely taxing occurred; Nicky would deflect from himself and focus on others. He’d suggested they continue their jog, even after his incident at the harbor. After his reaction to the cork at dinner, he’d gone straight to giving Joe a massage. And while Nicky’s habit of becoming a caretaker when stressed was perfectly normal and healthy... Joe had been searching for a way to get Nicky to think of _himself_ for a change, to give up the control that caretaking gave him, and to really, truly, _finally_ relax. And, as he watched Nicky dig into the feast, passing Joe a plate or two, he knew just the thing.

* * *

For three days, Joe found ways to get Nicky worked up, and then interrupt it. Nicky was only confused for about two untimely interruptions, until it was clear he’d figured out what Joe was doing. He never said as much, but the way he simply _let it happen_ without so much as a word to the contrary was telling enough.

The first day, they’d gone to the beach, and Joe had been a bit... _over the top_ with his application of sunscreen on Nicky’s body. After that, they’d gone for a swim, far off shore and back, and when they’d reached a sandbar about a kilometer out, Joe used the opportunity to kiss and caress Nicky, but had easily cut it short with a blanket statement about being seen, about potential violence heading their way. And while it was true, he did typically try to avoid violence befalling Nicky as much as possible, even if it didn’t matter, he also didn’t really care. He would die a thousand deaths at the hands of hateful hearts just for one kiss from his beloved.

His efforts were slightly halted when, as he and Nicky were wading ashore, Joe turned to look back and suddenly he was standing on a beach at Normandy, boots filling with seawater, separated from Nicky by a rush of soldiers spilling from the landing craft amidst an unexpected amount of pushback from the German forces. Men dropped like flies, bodies washing ashore and the water turning a ghastly red, and artillery fire rang out against the metal hulls of the amphibious craft, like bells signaling judgment day. Joe wanted to scream, may have, as his mind fractured briefly— _“Nicky, where are you, please, I can’t find you, where are you!”—_ but Nicky was right there, shaking him from it and forcing his gaze forward with strong, deft hands grasping his face.

Joe had felt the same embarrassment as Nicky surely had at dinner the night before as a number of beach-going tourists spread out and gave him a wide, suspicious berth.

They silently trudged back to the hotel, minds heavy and burdened by the sickening memory, and Nicky sat Joe down on the terrace, back to the high sun, shoving a sketching pad and pencil into his hands. Joe’s heart swelled with adoration at how well Nicky knew him, how well he understood Joe’s coping mechanisms. And he’d used the opportunity to sketch out something filthy—a semblance of himself and Nicky, joined intimately, their faces twisted in ecstasy. He made sure to show it to Nicky, another attempt at getting him excited, and it definitely worked.

And, as had been the plan before he was so rudely interrupted by his own trauma, he continued his work of teasing and retreating from Nicky, keeping him in a constant state of neediness. He would kiss him and fondle him through his trousers, and then break away, exclaiming that the sun was about to set over the ocean, and he wanted to watch. He would spew naughty poetry to him, watching as his eyes darkened and he squirmed in his seat, then he would absently wander to the phone, giving a flimsy excuse of—“we forgot to phone Andy, let me just make a quick call...”

And, in a particularly cruel streak, he’d hefted his foot up against Nicky’s crotch beneath their dinner table one night, watching hungrily as Nicky slowly went non-verbal, gripping his fork like a drowning man to a life raft.

The final straw came on the fourth morning, when they had dressed for breakfast, having decided to try a bakery a few blocks down from the hotel, and just before he opened the door of their hotel room, Joe had crowded Nicky against the wall, sliding a thigh between his legs and _pressing_ as he licked into Nicky’s mouth and fingered at a nipple through his thin button-up.

And when he had Nicky practically boneless with pleasure, he pulled back, absently righting his hair (which Nicky had dug his fingers into), and declared that they should get going, he wanted the freshest baklava available.

That was when Nicky snapped.

* * *

Before he even registered what had happened, Joe was being bodily spun around and pressed to the opposite wall, Nicky bracketing him in from behind with arms and hips and thighs.

“I know what you’re doing, and you can go ahead and mark it a success,” Nicky hissed in Arabic, his breath hot and enticing against the shell of Joe’s ear. He shivered, the rolling consonants and lilting syllables of Nicky’s unique Arabic tongue manifesting as a growl and a _purr_ , going straight to Joe’s cock.

Abstractly, he recalled the very first time Nicky, then Nicolò but allowing Yusuf and Yusuf alone to address him as _Nico_ , had spoken Arabic to him. They had ceased killing each other and were tentatively walking a path toward friendship (and, as Joe would learn much, much later, already pining madly for each other), and Nico had gone to the market while Yusuf attended the Mosque. They’d been speaking broken Greek since their violent meeting, or in some instances Genoan, as Yusuf spoke a serviceable amount, but never Arabic. Yusuf had assumed Nico couldn’t grasp it or didn’t want to, but apparently he’d been learning in secret, asking anyone who would listen to teach him in the hopes of surprising Yusuf.

And surprise him it did, when he and Nico joined for supper, and Nico set down his collection of fruits and sweets from the market, asking, in monotonous but clearly well-practiced Arabic, “which one is your favorite?”

Yusuf had spluttered, nearly choking on the fig he’d been enjoying, and gasping out a high-pitched “you speak Arabic?”

Nico had struggled a bit to answer, but the intent was clear—“I am learning. I want to know you.”

Now, 800 some-odd years later, as his chest heaved against the wall, the sound of it was as breathtaking to Joe as it was then.

“You’re intentionally frustrating me, Yusuf, and it was fun. For a little while. But now...” Nicky paused, pressing his entire body against Joe, and he noted Nicky’s arousal, hard as stone against his ass. Nicky shifted, removing his hands from the wall and wrapping Joe in them, one over his chest, the other low on his stomach. He used them to pull Joe even tighter, rolling his hips up until Joe could feel his length slotting against the crack of his ass.

“Now I’m going to _take my time with you,_ ” Nicky drawled, his hands roaming over Joe’s chest, sneaking beneath the hem of his shirt to stroke bare skin. “I am going to _mark you_...”

He paused to trail his lips down Joe’s carotid artery, nipping lightly a few times.

“With my hands...”

He curled his fingers, scratching Joe’s skin through his shirt just this side of _too hard_ with his fingernails, and Joe shuddered.

“With my teeth...”

He bit down on the meat of Joe’s shoulder, the spike of pain melding with the building pleasure in Joe’s gut and making him whimper wantonly.

“And with my _cock...”_ Nicky finished, really rolling his hips against Joe now in a suggestive rhythm that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, but Joe’s went wild anyway—Nicky was remarkably serpent-like in his movements, and it was perfect, the way his hips maintained a steady, unrelenting cadence as he moved inside Joe, spearing him open so hard that Joe could feel him in his _chest_.

“I will mark you so good, so _deep_ , that it will take you _days_ to recover...”

It was untenable, to be sure, as they both knew marks wouldn’t last. But Nicky was intimately aware of how much the thought aroused Joe—bruises sucked into his neck, scratch marks on his chest, his ass so well used that he couldn’t walk.

Nicky abandoned the place he’d bitten, rubbing his nose into Joe’s hair and inhaling hard. “And I will fill you with my spend, over and over and over, until your belly bulges with it...”

A thousand images flooded through Joe, the thousands of times he’d taken Nicky inside. He tended to become rather heated, Nicky, and the sight of Joe beneath him, open and pliant and leaking come... it did things to Nicky. In fact, Joe couldn’t remember a single time when it had been just _a single time._ Even sated and spent, the sight of Joe well-fucked always got Nicky going again.

“And I am going to make you come on my cock so...”

His hand traversed the small space between Joe’s belly and crotch, easily singling out Joe’s growing erection beneath his pants and _gripping it_.

“Many...”

He began rubbing, up and down Joe’s length, the fabric providing not even close to enough friction. Joe wanted Nicky’s skin, he wanted it _desperately_.

“Times...” Nicky said finally, taking Joe’s ear into his teeth and moaning, low and filthy. “Until the only word you know is my name, until the only language you speak is _body language_. And then I’m going to make you come again, just because I can...”

Joe groaned, angling his hips up into Nicky’s palm and then pushing back against him, relishing the little whine Nicky released when he did.

“You will not get a reprieve from me, Yusuf,” Nicky growled, his tone deepening with the hint of a threat. “I will keep you hard for me, for _days_ if I must... until I’ve had my fill of you, my love.”

Excited fear rushed through Joe, making him swallow a lump of dread in his throat. He’d been at Nicky’s relentless mercy before, and it was the most intoxicating, delirium-inducing, _erotic_ experience of his very long life.

“ _Uhn_ , Nicolò, I’m sorry I teased you, please...” he begged, his voice sounding even more wrecked than it felt.

Nicky’s satisfied grin was apparent against Joe’s neck, his incisors gently scraping heated flesh.

“Oh no, my heart,” Nicky breathed, squeezing Joe’s cock and nipping at his neck again. “You sewed this field, and now you’re going to reap the rewards.”

Joe felt anticipation and nervousness in equal measure. He knew, deep down, that Nicky would take excellent care of him... but he also knew that it was going to be exquisite torture in the meantime.

And just like that, Nicky’s heady presence against him was gone, and Joe physically stumbled back, his heart hammering so hard in his chest that he could feel it in the tips of his ears.

“Bed,” Nicky demanded, hands frantically working his own belt loose and whipping it off. “Clothes off. _Now_.”

All Joe could do was nod emphatically, hurrying to the bed as, with viciously trembling hands, he removed his shirt, pants, and underthings. He couldn’t recall being this painfully hard in a very, _very_ long time. He considered touching himself, just a few quick tugs, just to relieve a bit of the aching, the pressure, but something in the way Nicky was eyeing him, brows low and eyes lidded, told him Nicky didn’t want him to.

So he didn’t, crawling onto the bed on his knees, but pausing to look back at Nicky and losing his breath. Now fully nude, Nicky was a vision—his skin clean and unmarred, his hands trembling just as badly as Joe’s, and his cock so full it was turning red.

“Like what you’ve made of me?” Nicky purred, gripping himself at the base and pulling, just once, until his foreskin covered the entire head.

Joe gulped, nodding again because he didn’t trust his voice. But he did need it for this next part, so he did his best to wrangle it back to a semblance of control.

“How... how do you... _want me_?” he asked, not intending it as dirty talk, more of a simple clarification, but Nicky inhaled hard regardless, his cock twitching and drawing Joe’s eyes downward.

Nicky approached, reaching forward to cup Joe’s elbow, a shock of connection and support in the midst of all the desire, and said, “however you think you’ll be most comfortable for the next several _hours_.”

Joe could have melted into a puddle of excited goo at the thought of it—being at Nicky’s mercy for hours upon hours, his body a puzzle that Nicky deftly took apart and reordered to their mutual euphoria.

He would have been comfortable any possible way, as he knew Nicky would be attentive to his comfort no matter what, but... he wanted to behold the expressions of bliss on Nicky’s face, the overwhelmed passion. So with a quick grin tossed in Nicky’s direction, he twisted, allowing himself to fall gracelessly back onto the nest of pillows.

Nicky nodded in affirmation, but turned momentarily to grab a few things; the vial of coconut oil, his belt... and something else from his duffel bag that he kept intentionally obscured from Joe’s view.

“What do you have planned for me, habibi?” he asked, his anticipation ratcheting higher as Nicky turned back, leaned down to cage Joe in, and began wrapping his belt around Joe’s wrists.

He didn’t answer until he’d completely restrained Joe’s wrists together above his head, pulling tight to ensure a secure hold.

“Everything,” Nicky purred, tapping Joe’s forearm twice—it was their universal signal for _don’t move_ , but, as Nicky paused, forehead to Joe’s, it became so much more than that. Nicky didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even breathe, as his loving and entreating gaze locked with Joe’s, and it became a quiet question, a wordless assurance; _is this okay?_

Joe nodded, putting all his effort into making his returning smile say _yes, of course, there is nothing you could do that would frighten me, my life, my soul, my heart,_ and Nicky beamed, dipping to finally, _finally_ press a sweet but suggestive kiss to Joe’s lips.

Nicky migrated slowly then, pressing kisses up Joe’s cheek, following the line of his beard, then going for his neck and sternum. He paused to lick and nibble at Joe’s nipples, pulling back once they were slicked with spit to blow little puffs of cool air on them, and Joe’s entire body tingled, making him squirm beneath Nicky. Nicky smiled triumphantly up at him, then continued his lazy trail of kisses down Joe’s body.

He traced Joe’s abs with lips and tongue, decidedly avoiding where Joe’s cock was hard and leaking against them. He traced a few ribs, to the place where one of Joe’s only scars resided; a small pink line of about four inches, just below his lowest rib. He’d gotten it when he was a boy, when he and his eldest brother had found one of their father’s bejeweled daggers (an heirloom of great value that he intended to barter at market for several horses). But to Yusuf and Anouer, it had been a toy for their game, and they’d chased each other through mama’s garden... until Anouer tripped.

Nicky had once explained that he had a love/hate relationship with Joe’s scars. For one, he hated that anything had ever marred his “perfect skin,” as Nicky put it, hated that anything had ever caused him pain and _not_ healed instantly. But he did enjoy laving them in attention, kissing and licking the length of them in a wordless reminder that he cherished every facet of Joe’s body, no matter what.

“Nicky... _Nicolò_...” Joe pleaded, craning his neck to watch as Nicky prowled ever lower, his eyes roving first over Joe’s aching cock, his expression going hungry and desperate like a starving man, then down to Joe’s taut balls. He peered up just in time to lock eyes with Joe, a look of such mischief on his face that Joe swore his heart skipped a beat, and bent to take Joe’s cock into his puffy, kiss-bitten lips.

The first touch was magnetic, and Joe was helpless against the buck of his hips as Nicky closed his lips around the swollen ridge of the head and sucked, _hard_.

“ _Oh God, Nicky, yes, please_...” he heard himself repeating, completely unbidden, as he threw his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes against the onslaught of sensation.

He lost focus as Nicky continued, giving attention only to the incredibly sensitive head, tongue playing at the slit and lips pressing tightly around him. Joe was so lost to it, in fact, that he didn’t notice what had happened until he felt the pressure closing around the base of him.

His eyes shot open and he found Nicky’s impish glare had morphed into one of devastatingly attractive wickedness, his hand still situating the cock ring he’d just slipped onto Joe.

“Oh...” was all Joe could manage around his shrinking throat. “ _Oh_...”

He had assumed that Nicky had been colloquial when he’d suggested they’d be at this for hours, but now it seemed... he really did plan to completely dismantle Joe’s sanity, one orgasm at a time.

“Fuck.”

“That’s the idea,” Nicky replied with a giggle, and without preamble, he was sinking back down to take Joe back into his mouth.

Just in the seconds he’d had the ring on, he’d already become even more unbelievably sensitive, and when Nicky sank all the way down until Joe could note the back of his throat, he was incredibly thankful for the restriction of the ring, because he could have come then and there.

“Nico, _Nico, please_ ,” he whispered, laying back again and biting his lip to distract from the already insurmountable pleasure.

“Hmmm?” Nicky mumbled around Joe’s cock, _“please, what?”_ clear in the intonation.

The vibration of his voice around Joe had him trembling, thighs squeezing around Nicky’s broad shoulders involuntarily. And to be honest, Joe had no idea what he was begging, pleading for. The thought of what was in store for him, the mindless ecstasy, the overwhelming stimulation, the feeling of Nicky, Nicky, _Nicky_ , everywhere, all over him, around him, inside him... it was enough to drive any man mad with want.

Ripping him from his thoughts, his fantasies, was the sound of the cap on the vial of oil, and Joe groaned helplessly, knowing what was coming next.

“So good for me, Yusuf,” Nicky hummed, his breath hot against the spit-slick skin of Joe’s cock, making him twitch.

Nicky returned to his task, slower this time, as he coupled it with a slick finger massaging at Joe’s rim and then finally pressing inside.

Joe bucked weakly, little uncontrolled simpering noises falling from his lips and gaining in volume as Nicky began pumping his finger, slow and steady. He worked up to two fingers, then three, clearly avoiding Joe’s prostate to keep him on edge.

The heat built and built in Joe’s gut, agonizingly slowly, like the tide coming in on a spring evening. And when Nicky finally curled his fingers _just right,_ caressing over Joe’s prostate with a devotion that made him want to weep, Joe felt it brimming over.

_“Nico, Nico, fuck, I’m...”_

Before he could even finish, Nicky had pulled off of his cock and extricated his fingers, leaving Joe completely bereft.

“ _Nononono, please Nico, please...”_ he sobbed, hips making aborted little thrusts as his orgasm, now ruined, crested.

He groaned pitifully as he felt himself twitching and spurting into his own bellybutton, the simultaneous bliss and pain of it making him growl with frustration.

Nicky’s lips were pressed to Joe’s quicker than he could say “bastard,” drinking in Joe’s moans of disappointment.

“How does your own medicine taste, my sweet, sweet Yusuf?” Nicky asked against his lips, a hand soothing over Joe’s heaving chest.

Joe wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d turned the tables, so he simply took Nicky’s lower lip in his teeth and sucked on it. Nicky’s carefully constructed charade of control wavered as he did, his eyes closing briefly and a tiny whine escaping.

“Whatever do you mean?” Joe quipped after releasing Nicky’s lip. “I can do this all day.”

He instantly regretted the statement as Nicky’s face took on that ancient pallor of mischief.

“Well it’s a good thing for you, then,” he said, retreating back down Joe’s body to settle between his legs, manhandling them to rest over his thighs. Joe was still hard, his interrupted orgasm having ensured that he remain so (as was, undoubtedly, Nicky’s plan all along).

Nicky grabbed a fluffy pillow from nearby, tapping Joe’s hip to insinuate that he lift them. Joe did so, feeling the heat of a furious blush sweep down his cheeks and chest as Nicky stuffed the pillow beneath him to set him up at the perfect angle.

Nicky intentionally avoided Joe’s gaze as he reached for the oil once more, poured a healthy glob on the tip of his hard prick, then worked it up and down his length in a sweeping, loose fist. Just the sight of Nicky’s cock, shining and ready, had Joe subconsciously spreading his legs wider.

Nicky timed it perfectly, meeting Joe’s eyes as he took himself in hand, lined up, and began torturously slowly pushing inside.

“Mmmmm, Nico, yes, _please_ , _more_ ,” Joe begged, half meaning the words and half using them to break Nicky’s resolve. And while they didn’t shatter it entirely, they made a dent, Nicky biting his lip and whimpering as he finally bottomed out.

Nicky stilled, his eyes intense and precise on Joe, and Joe delighted in that gaze, so loving and doting and careful, his hands itching to touch where they were still tied above his head.

“È buono, Nicolò,” Joe reassured him with a sappy half-smile.

Nicky nodded, bending at the waist to hover over Joe and kiss him soundly as he tentatively began to move.

They both moaned into each other’s mouths, the relief of finally being joined again clearly hitting them both at the same moment. It had been so, so long, and at this point it was more than just physical—it was a reassurance that _I’m here, I’m solid, I’m still breathing, and I’m with you. Not even the end of days could take me away from you, nor you from me. When the earth is no more, and we are but satellites in the debris, you and I shall be stars, shooting through the cosmos together, eternal and unending._

Joe smiled to himself at the poetry Nicky always brought out of him, but he couldn’t maintain it for long as Nicky rocked back to kneel, pulling Joe’s thighs wider around his hips, and began pistoning directly into Joe’s prostate.

Joe was fairly certain he resurrected a few languages for the curses he let loose, gripping the pillows above him for purchase as the pleasure quickly ratcheted back up to ten. And he actually cried out when Nicky took his cock in an oiled fist, using the momentum of his hips to drive Joe’s cock through it. He considered telling his love that he was close, but something in the back of his brain fired off warning signs, reminding him what Nicky had done last time. Perhaps, if Nicky didn’t know how close he was, he would allow him to come...

He tried to disguise it, he really did; biting the inside of his cheek to keep the noises at bay, gripping the bedclothes so hard in his fists that he was pretty sure he heard a tear.

But just as he felt the thrill building, Nicky suddenly pulled out, his hand leaving Joe’s cock to caress over his thighs as yet another half-satisfying, mostly frustrating orgasm crashed through Joe.

He didn’t even form words this time, just a deep, primal growl, and broke his promise to Nicky, yanking his hands down to his cock in an attempt to touch himself.

Nicky caught them easily before he could, grinning in triumph and watching with lidded eyes as Joe’s come filled his bellybutton yet again.

“You think you can hide your pleasure from me, my heart?” Nicky asked, feigned shock in his voice. “I’ve spent eight hundred years learning the signs of your ecstasy. The way your thighs tense when you are close, the way your spine goes rigid. You cannot hide these things from me, no matter how you may try. I told you, Yusuf,” he paused, leaning back down to push Joe’s hands back above his head. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

Joe grumbled, but he couldn’t deny, as with the many, _many_ times they’d done this before, that he was _loving it;_ loving the way his cock ached with need, loving the way his muscles turned to jelly with the exertion, loving the way his mind went hazy with overstimulation.

Without warning, Nicky was sliding back inside, and Joe weakly arched off the bed, his body so open and ready that Nicky’s hips contacted Joe’s ass on the first thrust. The pace was immediately punishing, and it was all Joe could do to just hold on for dear life and feel himself opening willingly for Nicky’s cock, taking him inside and keeping him there.

It was the first sign that Nicky himself was breaking, when his rhythm faltered and he fell forward to prop his hands to either side of Joe’s head. His breaths were punched-out and mangled, and he was beginning to tremble like a leaf in a breeze.

“Oh, mia luna,” Joe sighed, his heart aching to just cup Nicky’s cheek in his hand. “Look at you, so beautiful like this.”

Nicky faltered again with a gasp, his hips stuttering and his ab muscles jumping.

The sight was ravishing, and Joe found himself close _again_ , and he didn’t bother to try to hide it this time. Nicky was right; he would know the signs of Joe’s climax if he were blind, for he was the sole instigator, the creator, the sculptor of Joe’s every rapture.

This one was smaller, like his body knew it wouldn’t get what it wanted, what it _needed_ , but that didn’t stop it from being such lovely torment. The torment was apparently twofold, however, because as Joe regained his senses from his third ruined orgasm, he found Nicky, having pulled out once again, biting into his own palm as his furiously red cock leaked onto Joe’s pelvis, and his hips made aimless little thrusts against empty air.

Joe grinned, his face feeling somewhat numb and droopy.

“To torture me is to torture yourself, Nicolò,” he mumbled, tongue almost unresponsive.

Nicky simply panted for a moment, entire body trembling and sweat shining on his brow. Joe had finally had enough, and he thought a renegotiation was in order.

“Please let me touch you, my love,” he whispered, his tone breaking from their usual one of play to real truth— _I know we’re having fun, and I’m not done, not even close, otherwise I would have used our word. But I need you, I need to be closer to you, please, please let me touch you._

It was clear in the softening of Nicky’s eyes that he’d heard it, loud and clear, and without another moment’s hesitation, he was shakily removing the belt from Joe’s wrists.

Joe couldn’t touch him fast enough; hands flying to grip at his biceps, caressing up and over his shoulders, bracketing his neck. He knew Nicky loved his hands, and it was never more obvious than now; goosebumps rising on Nicky’s arms in the wake of Joe’s touch.

“Better?” Nicky asked, kissing him before he could answer.

“Mmmhmmm,” Joe hummed into the kiss, wrapping Nicky up tightly and bracing his hands on his powerful back. “More, Nicolò. I need more of you...”

Nicky only whimpered in return, nodding as best he could without breaking their kiss. One of his hands disappeared from Joe’s view, and suddenly he felt Nicky pressing at his hole again.

“One more?” Nicky muttered against Joe’s lips, curling his hips and pressing inside once more. “I think you can give me one more.”

Joe had no idea how to answer that question. He wanted both options, madly. He desperately wanted to come, _really_ come, not these terminated, half-orgasms that left him completely unsatisfied and aching for more. But at the same time... he wanted to keep going like this forever, body strung as tight as a bowstring, attuned to Nicky like a featherweight.

So he did the only conceivable thing—he gripped Nicky’s ass _hard,_ pulling him in as deep as he would go, and cried out as his body willingly accepted Nicky’s length. It was both familiar and new—an age old dance that they’d perfected down to a science, and yet it still managed to thrill them both, every time.

Nicky was clearly struggling to hold it together—his whole body trembling as he thrust his hips shallowly, obviously tiring, but chasing his own pleasure. He was beginning to moan on every exhalation, but he still managed to lean up enough to take hold of Joe’s cock, which was so over-sensitive now that Joe could have screamed, would have done if he hadn’t absently covered his own mouth with a hand.

“Don’t” Nicky panted, his thrusts becoming even shorter. “Want... want to... _hear you_...”

Joe nodded, allowing his hand to fall into the bedding, his cries getting louder and louder as Nicky tugged on his cock and pounded into him, hardly pulling out at all and just moving frantically inside him.

When at last Joe felt that ever-familiar pressure building, and knew he couldn’t trust his voice to do anything but moan archaic curses at the ceiling, he tapped Nicky’s shoulder twice, dread and excitement making his heart absolutely hammer in his chest.

Nicky gave him a few more thrusts, a few more tugs, then he was pulling out, abandoning Joe to wallow in the pleasure/pain of his fourth ruined orgasm. He convulsed beneath Nicky, releasing what he could only describe as a howling sob as tears sprung to his eyes, his entire body _on fire_ with need.

As he came back to his senses, feeling a lot like he’d been hit by a London double-decker, he was able to take in the sight of Nicky.

He was cursing relentlessly in old Genoan, mouth hanging open in a display of agony and ecstasy, a slow dribble of come dripping down his angry, denied cock, his own ruined orgasm making him shiver uncontrollably.

“Oh, Nicolò,” Joe cooed, reaching for Nicky and feeling like his arm had turned to lead. Nicky jerked at just Joe’s touch, another bead of come appearing at the head of his cock.

“Come on love, let’s end this,” Joe pleaded, kneading at Nicky’s bicep.

Nicky leapt into action, his eyes somewhat crazed and wild, shoving Joe’s legs down to either side of him and crawling on top to straddle him.

Joe reached for the oil, but Nicky stopped him, grasping his wrist and guiding Joe’s hand back to his entrance... where Joe felt the hard tip of a plug already there.

“Al... already taken care of,” Nicky stuttered, mouth falling open once more as Joe gingerly gripped the base of the plug and slowly began to pull it out.

“My sweet, desperate Nicolò,” Joe purred, feeling Nicky’s hole flutter at the sudden emptiness as he dropped the plug onto the bedding. “How long have you been wearing this, keeping yourself open for me?”

Nicky swallowed, and Joe watched his Adam’s apple bob with hunger building in his gut.

“L... last night. I... I knew what game you were playing, knew I could wait. But I just... I needed you so, _so badly_ , I could barely stand it. I’ve been half-hard for you for a day, at least, feeling this pitiful thing inside me and dreaming it was you, but knowing it wasn’t even close...” Nicky whined, his eyes also shining with unshed tears.

Joe felt a pulse of heated, urgent desire as he imagined it; Nicky working himself open, likely biting his lip to keep quiet, and sliding the little black plug inside his needy, desperate hole. He’d probably done it in the shower last night, after Joe had intentionally worked him up into a frenzy only to declare that they were getting pruny, and leaving him awash with arousal. Then he’d come to bed with Joe, slept against him, held him close, all the while feeling the pressure of the plug filling him up, stretching him open, never knowing if or when Joe would take pity on him.

So take pity he did, holding Nicky steady with one hand on his hip, and taking himself in his other to line up.

Nicky was tight as Joe began slowly slipping inside, and Nicky threw his head back and groaned, his hands spasming on Joe’s chest, fingernails digging in and making Joe fight to keep from bucking all the way in.

Nicky practically wailed with relief when he was fully seated, and the sight of a single tear rolling down his blushing cheek had Joe doing the same, reaching up to adoringly cup his jaw and swipe the tear away with a thumb.

“ _God_ , Yusuf, I needed this, needed you,” Nicky murmured, long eyelashes fluttering as he began to slowly ride Joe in tentative, luxurious tilts of his hips. “I didn’t even know how bad it had gotten until right now. It feels like something has been missing, something was _ripped out_ , and you... you put me back together, Yusuf, you do, you... _ah_!”

He apparently managed a particularly pleasurable angle, because he paused, jaw quivering as he attempted to repeat it.

“I know, my heart, I know,” Joe said, the emotion making his voice break. He’d been feeling exactly the same, and he hadn’t realized either; for years, there had been a seedy undercurrent of loss, of distance, and they’d just been pushing through it. They’d just kept going, kept running, kept ignoring the gaping hole in their chests until finally... it had swallowed them up in its unforgiving maw. “ _Come here...”_

Nicky was frantic to obey, practically collapsing down to his elbows for a kiss, and the sudden adjustment had Joe falling out of Nicky’s body. Nicky didn’t even miss a beat; he simply kept kissing Joe, lips swollen and frenzied as he reached between them to hold Joe steady and slide back down.

After so long denying themselves, it took a while to build back up, but that was just fine with Joe; he floated in a haze of bliss as he simply held Nicky close, sometimes kissing him, sometimes embracing him, sometimes just staring at his beautiful eyes, his lovely nose, his gorgeous, perfect lips.

Nicky’s thrusts were virtually nonexistent now, his thighs tiring and muscles clearly at their limit. Joe tried to help as much as possible, pumping up to meet him, but he too was feeling like a wrung-out wash rag, after the teasing Nicky had done for... he didn’t even know how long. How long had they been at this, how long had they been lost to each other?

Joe hadn’t even realized that he was close again, dazed as he was and practically high on _Nicky_ , until he heard Nicky whimpering at how hard Joe was gripping his ass, nails digging in.

“S... sorry,” Joe tried to say, but his voice was broken with lust. He attempted to loosen his grip, but Nicky shook his head furiously, barking a quick “Don’t! Don’t stop, _for the love of God_ , don’t stop.”

It was then that Joe realized Nicky too was close, his eyes shut tight and his ab muscles jumping.

Joe could have wept, truly, at the absolution he could feel and see building, and he was helpless to stop the words tumbling out,

“Fuck, Nicky, I love you. I love you so much, I’ve missed you, though you’ve been right by my side. Please, _please_...”

Nicky nodded his agreement, his hips speeding up in a last-ditch effort. Joe pushed hard to meet him, their bodies colliding with force. Nicky’s hands both dug into Joe’s hair, gripping almost painfully hard as he buried his head against Joe’s neck.

It was then that Nicky cried out into the pillows, his hole pulsating around Joe, hot come spilling with impressive force between them. The heat and pressure of Nicky’s intense orgasm threw Joe over the edge too, and he pushed all the way in and stilled, trembling with relief as he finally achieved a full release, filling Nicky with pulse after pulse and gripping at Nicky’s shoulder blades.

Joe’s mind buzzed with joy, with sated pleasure, and he simply allowed himself to _be_ , holding Nicky as both of them continued to twitch and whimper with aftershocks.

It was Nicky who seemed to come to first, adjusting slightly so that he could move his hand from Joe’s hair to cradle the back of his neck.

“ _Fuck_ , that... that was... are you alright, hayati?” he muttered, pushing up slightly to look Joe in the eyes, and Joe noted just how badly he was shaking.

Joe smiled, even that movement feeling slow and sluggish, and reached up an equally shaking hand to swipe a strand of sweaty hair from Nicky’s forehead.

“Perfect, amore,” he said, exhaustion and complete satisfaction warring inside him and making keeping his eyes open difficult. “The best I’ve ever felt.”

Nicky smiled, his movements stunted as well. He struggled to prop himself up on both hands, and then he was tipping forward, and Joe felt a flash of heat as his cock dragged past Nicky’s tight rim and fell out. Nicky made a lovely little sound of shock and delight, biting his lip as he did, and Joe brought his hands forward to cage in his sweaty neck.

“I love you, Yusuf,” Nicky proclaimed in Arabic, his voice painfully earnest.

Joe smiled, kissing him again before responding, in Italian, “and I love you, Nicolò di Genova.”

* * *

“What made you decide to tease me for three days?” Nicky asked quietly, snuggling in tighter against Joe’s side, his fingers tracing aimless patterns in the hair on Joe’s chest.

“The amount of time wasn’t really planned,” Joe replied fondly, kissing into Nicky’s sweaty hair. “Just as long as you could stand it.”

“Hmmm,” Nicky grunted back, knowing it dipped in disappointment as he realized it had been some kind of test, and he’d only made it three days—the blink of an eye for them.

Joe rubbed his back reassuringly. “You didn’t just make it three days, hayati. We... we haven’t... _ya hasrety,_ when _was_ the last time we had sex?”

Nicky let out a breath through his nose, disbelief flooding his veins as he thought back. They hadn’t taken any real time off together since Belfast.

“I don’t remember,” he replied, his tone as mournful as Joe’s had been. “Probably sometime at University.”

Joe groaned his dissatisfaction with that answer. “Oh, _Nicolò_! That was nearly thirty _years_ ago!”

Nicky didn’t respond, only made a small sound deep in his throat expressing how wounding that number was.

“So you made it... thirty years... and three days!” Joe said, in an obvious attempt to salvage the direction this conversation seemed to be going.

“Well... we’ve been... we’ve been busy, I suppose, with... with the wars...” Nicky’s voice had begun to rise against his will, a squeaky quality on the vowels as he recalled Joe standing on the beach the other day, mentally transported back to Normandy, panicked and visibly upset.

“No, no, no, Nicolò, stop right there,” Joe interrupted as warmly as was possible. “That way, madness lies.”

Nicky gave him a chagrined smile, conflicted. They needed to talk some things through, needed to address how noticeably traumatized they were by the events of the last century. That was the worst part of their immortality, Nicky thought; physical wounds healed instantly, but mental ones? Those seemed as timeless as they were.

“I know,” he said, accepting that _now was not the time_. Now, they were going to bask in the dulling glow of their lovemaking, and ignore everything but each other. He grinned, pinpointing a way to bring them back out of this pit they seemed destined for. “If I’d known you were going to deny me for three days, I would have let that breakfast get cold.”

Joe laughed hard, Nicky’s head on his chest bouncing with it. “And I might have let you,” he replied happily, pressing another kiss into Nicky’s hair. “Speaking of breakfast, guess we’re not going, huh?”

Nicky giggled in response, but he did prop himself up for a moment to peer over at the antique silver analog clock on the nightstand.

“Noon?!” he gasped playfully, letting his eyes go comically wide as he looked back down at Joe, loving the silly, constant grin that seemed plastered to his face. “We’ve been at it for two and a half _hours_?!”

Joe nodded sluggishly, his fingertips still idly tracing up and down Nicky’s spine torturously lightly.

“You did say you were going to take your time with me,” he said, to which Nicky blushed. In the moment, the words had felt perfect, but now they just sounded lame. Joe seemed to see this in his face, and leaned forward to kiss the tip of Nicky’s nose, making him giggle again.

“Come to think of it, though, you also said you were… how did you phrase it? Oh yes, you said you were going to _fill me with your come until my belly bulged with it…”_

Outrageously embarrassed by his filthy words, Nicky groaned, letting his forehead fall until he was burying his whole face against Joe’s pectoral muscle. “Don’t make fun…” he whimpered pitifully.

“Oh, I’m not, believe me,” Joe said, not kissing Nicky’s hair this time, instead just pressing his nose in and breathing in. “I’m actually suggesting that, uh… that you have some unfulfilled promises to keep.”

Nicky shot upright, looking down at Joe, who wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and let his legs fall open minutely.

Nicky bit his lip, already feeling himself stirring with interest again.

“Shower?” he asked, relishing the idea of washing the dried sweat and come from their bodies while also causing more.

“Hm… a fine proposal,” Joe replied, nodding conspiratorially and taking on the air of his merchant father. “Counter offer: a bath?”

Nicky considered, but before he reached a conclusion, Joe was listing off the benefits, ever the salesman.

“I can lie against your chest as you wash the evidence from my skin…” he whispered, pausing to trail a finger through the drying come on his stomach and drawing Nicky’s gaze down to where he was growing hard again. “You can use my backside however you wish, and who knows, that detachable shower head could come in han…”

Nicky didn’t even let him finish—just grasped his wrist and yanked him along with him as he stood, laughing as Joe stumbled, his knees clearly still recovering from the thorough fucking.

In the end, they did exactly as Joe suggested; Nicky lying back against the porcelain tub as Joe reclined on his chest, and Nicky used two fingers to clean him out while he slowly stroked his cock with the other. He came surprisingly quickly, his moans echoing off the tiled walls and ringing pleasantly in Nicky’s ears, and then he was twisting and returning the gesture; cleaning Nicky out with gentle fingers and using the pulsating pressure of the shower head on Nicky’s cock, making him come completely untouched.

They tried to get back to normal—attempting to go out for dinner, perhaps go to the cinema—but the flood gates, it seemed, had been thrown wide open. Joe once again placed his foot against Nicky’s crotch during dinner, intentionally ordering a dessert with cream and lasciviously licking it from his spoon and his fingers. Then, once hidden in the darkness of the cinema, Nicky had reached over to begin rubbing Joe through his slacks, to the point that Joe rocketed from his seat half an hour into the film, and dragged Nicky to the bathroom, where Nicky promptly dropped to his knees and sucked the life out of him.

They barely made it back to their hotel room, and even though they were both highly exhausted from the day’s exertions, they lay face to face in bed, and Joe took both of them in a tight, well-oiled fist, bringing them both off extremely slowly as he whispered sweet words of affirmation against Nicky’s lips and kissed him breathless.

Nicky dreamed of nothing but Joe, the lingering nightmares of the last few decades apparently all but replaced, and woke painfully hard, like he used to as a boy in the monastery. But this time he didn’t have to hide his shame, no, this time Joe sank below the sheets and took him into his mouth, bobbing his head at a heart-stopping pace until Nicky throbbed and spilled down his throat, quivering and threading his fingers through Joe’s lovely curls.

On the sixth day, Nicky fulfilled his promise, pressing Joe up against the little decorative table opposite their bed, spread his legs, opened him up with nothing but his mouth, and fucked into him until his legs gave out, then held him up and fucked him some more.

It wasn’t until the tenth day of their holiday that it all came crashing down.

* * *

Joe hissed in a breath at how awe-inspiring of a sight Nicky was; wrists bound behind his back, face pressed into the tear-streaked pillowcase, and well-prepped ass up in the air and on display, just waiting for Joe. Nicky’s cock hung, desperately hard past the restriction of the cock ring that was now being used on _him,_ his balls drawn up tight and ready to burst (as they had been for the last hour of edging).

“Are you ready to come, my heart?” Joe asked quietly, sweeping a hand over the reddened hand print on Nicky’s ass and heart thumping in response to the pitiful little whine Nicky released. He’d been beyond words for at least ten minutes now, and Joe had ensured Nicky had a decent hold of the thin rope around Joe’s wrist, able to tug on it at any time. When he got like this, Nicky wasn’t able to use their word, so Joe had adapted over the years, donning something Nicky could tug on if he needed to. He rarely needed to, but Joe would never let them go without.

Holding his breath, Joe took himself in hand, lined back up, and watched hungrily as his length slowly disappeared inside his love, the tight heat making him groan. Nicky twitched, back arching piteously before hollowing back down, and pushing back against Joe as he bottomed out.

Joe curled himself over Nicky’s back, one hand propping himself up just past Nicky’s hip, the other snaking down to take Nicky back into his fist.

Nicky yowled into the pillow, thighs shaking as he immediately began pumping his hips, pushing Joe in deeper and forcing his hand on Nicky’s cock to move.

“Desperate, aren’t you?” Joe growled against Nicky’s back, beginning to move at a leisurely but very deep pace.

Nicky made a sound that might have been “please,” but just registered as another needy moan, and Joe conceded, rolling his hips harder and faster, stripping Nicky’s cock with his fist. When his every movement forced a blissed-out grimace and mindless sigh from Nicky, Joe knew he was close—halting his tugging of Nicky’s cock and simply swiping his thumb back and forth over the overly-sensitive head.

Nicky finally regained his words, a haphazard string of profanities and _“fuck, baby, pleasepleaseplease, Yusuf, don’t stop, don’t stop…”_ tumbling from those lovely lips. Joe grinned, releasing the head of Nicky’s cock and cupping his balls just in time to feel them constrict as he came explosively, striping the bedsheets in long, thick streaks.

Joe followed almost immediately after, pulling out with just enough time to mark Nicky’s back and ass with his own come, groaning wordlessly as he watched Nicky’s hole flutter in his absence.

Soon after, Nicky’s knees were giving out and sliding against the bedding, his body going flat as he panted hard. It was then that Joe started to note the change; instead of evening out, Nicky’s breaths were beginning to quicken, his fists clenching so hard the knuckles turned white, and it almost seemed as if he was attempting to pull on the rope…

Without hesitation, Joe yanked the slipknot loose, freeing Nicky’s hands, and didn’t even waste time in spinning Nicky around; he simply enveloped him, wrapping his arms around his chest, his legs around Nicky’s.

“ _Hey, hey, hey,”_ he garbled weakly against Nicky’s nape, pressing his palm against Nicky’s heart and feeling it hammering wildly. “I’m here, I’m right here. What’s wrong?”

Nicky trembled in his hold for a moment, obviously trying to get himself under control.

“It’s not… it’s nothing, you didn’t… you didn’t do anything wrong, I just…” Nicky sobbed into the pillow, shaking his head as if he were trying to rid himself of some wicked thought, some pervasive intrusion.

Nicky shattered in his hold, shaking violently and weeping so hard he could barely draw breath to speak. “I try to have faith, I do. To believe that whatever force joined us in immortality would never think of taking it away, not separately. But I can’t know, _we can’t_ , and it haunts me, Yusuf, that you could leave me at any moment, that I could leave you. These wars have taken you from me so many times; I’ve watched you take your final breaths _so many times_. And I’ve been strong in the knowledge that we entered this life together so, naturally, we will leave it together. But… _God_ , every kiss could be the last, every touch could be the last, every… every word spoken…”

“Shhhh, shhshhshh,” Joe tried, his own panic rising at the words and needing more than anything to make them stop. In general, they avoided this conversation like the plague, because Nicky typically was unshaking in his belief that they would _go together,_ but Joe really had never been so sure. After seeing the horrors this world had to offer, not to mention the atrocious fates some of the immortals had faced in the past… Joe had felt that, if a deity had done this, had gifted them this… then it was a cruel and unjust deity, one that would have no qualms separating them.

“I know, I know, Nicky, and I…” he couldn’t reassure him, because he wouldn’t believe any of the words that he could say to do so, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie, not to Nicky, not even to make him feel better. _“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But I’m here, I’m here, right now. Just breathe, breathe with me, please…”_

He inhaled hard, and to his relief, Nicky copied it, and when he exhaled, Nicky did too. He did that several times, inhaling for a five-count, exhaling for seven, and waiting for Nicky to do the same. He did, until _finally_ , he was breathing normally and relaxing in Joe’s arms.

“There you are,” Joe tried, his attempt at lighthearted just sounding aggrieved.

A punched-out breath left Nicky, a semblance of a laugh, but sounding more like corporeal anguish leaving his body.

“S… sorry…” Nicky tried, a hand coming up to grip limply at Joe’s wrist.

“Don’t be, habibi, don’t you _ever_ be sorry for feeling scared,” Joe said softly, feeling his voice beginning to waver with the emotion and tears beginning to cling to his lashes. “It’s true, you’re usually my rock, my true north, my Mecca… but don’t ever feel like you _have to be._ If you’re scared, tell me, if you’re sad, cry with me. Don’t be strong because you _have to be_. That’s why we’re here. It’s been hard, these last few years, harder than I think either of us ever imagined. War is barbarism, and you and I were born into it, so we know this, intimately. And this last one, it… I think it did some damage, to both of us. I know that you’ve been feeling the same; lost, and frightened, and overwhelmed. And there really isn’t anything I can say to make you, or me, feel any better about it, except that _I’m here._ I don’t know for how long, or why. But for now, _I’m here_. Okay?”

Nicky breathed deep, grasping Joe’s wrist harder and bringing his hand up to his lips, kissing each knuckle in turn.

“Yes, sole mio,” Nicky breathed, keeping Joe’s hand pressed to his lips. “You’re here, with me. And _I love you, more than life itself, do you understand?”_

Joe smiled woefully, pulling his hand from Nicky’s grasp and using it to tip his chin up and kiss him like it was their first, like it was their last.

“Although...” Nicky went on, his hand curling and uncurling against Joe’s beard, threatening to send him to sleep. “If I’m going to agree to that, then I need you to promise me something too,” Nicky said, eyes trained not on Joe’s eyes but on his lips.

“Oh?” Joe asked in kind. “And what’s that?”

Nicky rearranged, placing a flat palm on Joe’s cheek as his gaze finally rose to meet Joe’s, and suddenly Joe felt he had been a ship lost to a tempest, and he was finally moored. He sighed, deflating a little as his whole body relaxed into just being _seen_.

“Don’t pull away,” Nicky said, voice trembling with emotion. “Not from me, you hardly ever pull away from me. But Andy and Booker... they need you, _we need you,_ all of us. You are sunlight in a dense fog, a lighthouse that guides our way. And as much as Andy and Book throw up walls of solitude, they benefit from your light. We suffer when you draw back, when you retreat within yourself. If you need a break, tell me, and I will book this place, or anything like it, anywhere on Earth, in a heartbeat, you need only say so. But just... don’t pull away, Yusuf. You are our anchor, and we’d be lost without you. Promise me?”

Joe smiled, heart so full he could barely stand it. “I promise.”

They slept fitfully then, both plagued by dreams and nightmares, but they slept regardless; clutching each other tight and letting the pain, the trauma sink in. It wasn’t pleasant—enough tears shed to fill an ocean, enough mourning to encompass the irreplaceable connections they’d lost to war, to time. Davide, a young closeted French soldier that had come to them for advice, only to be lost under the unrelenting cogs of the war machine. Markus, a middle-aged Nazi who had turned spy after being rescued from the Blitz by the Guard and nursed back to health, seeing the error of his ways and fighting for truth, for humanity, for what was right—he’d been cut down by his superior the moment they’d begun to suspect. So many lives, so many stories that would never be told. And yet the story of Nicolò di Genova and Yusuf al-Kaysani pressed ever onward.

The following day they took a boat to the island of Gozo and hiked up the shoreline to the Tal Mixta caves, ancient memories of the little hideaway mixing bizarrely with the sight of tourists taking photos with box cameras and ogling the embedded fire pits—pits they themselves had cooked meat in, at some point in time lost to history.

In search of a hint of privacy, the two of them climbed the rocky hillside to a fairly tourist-free swath of land high above Ramla Bay, the red sandy beach below stirring strong emotions to the surface as they recalled rolling in that sand without a care to where it got lodged, kissing and frolicking like young boys in the surf.

Joe plopped down on a warmed rock then, feeling the jagged heat of it against his thighs as he looked up at Nicky—bracketed by the sun, he practically glowed, his beauty like a blade to the heart, and Joe fought the urge to weep.

He sighed, propping his arms up on his raised knees and simply let his head hang.

“It’s not… it’s not fair,” he mumbled, feeling the way Nicky immediately gravitated to him and sank down to sit next to him, their shoulders bumping together.

When Nicky did not ask, Joe went on, solemnity making him feel heavy and weighed-down, as if an anvil had been firmly strapped to each shoulder.

“So… _so much loss,_ ” he said, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, as he knew he’d been here before, spoken these words, lamented these same tragedies, ages ago, under different skies. A thousand different wars, a thousand different weapons, a thousand different generations, tearing themselves apart with hatred in their hearts and ignorance in their minds. “So many lovers who will never meet, so many children who will never play and laugh in the streets of their hometowns… and who knows… maybe adversaries who will never know what it is to put down your blade and _fall in love. With your enemy, with life._ So many poems that will never be written, so many songs that died in slashed throats. So many books I’ll never read, so many films I’ll never see. Because humanity _doesn’t learn.”_

He knew he was getting upset, could feel the heat in his ears and the pulsing of angry blood in his fingertips. But still, Nicky said nothing, so he went on.

“I don’t _understand it_ , Nicolò,” he said, leaning into the statement. “If those in power could just see it, if they could just bear witness to the horror their petty squabbles reap… see the blood running down the streets, if they could taste the salt of the tears shed by every mother who never saw her son again… they would never start another heinous war. They would _talk to each other,_ learn to understand one another. But they don’t, they don’t _want to!_ Not when tearing each other down is so much _easier!”_

Joe could feel the tears begin to fall, and Nicky still didn’t speak; only wrapped an arm tight around Joe, pulled him against his side, and used his other hand to tilt Joe’s head down to rest in the crook of his neck.

“I know, habibi,” he said mournfully, and the vibration of his throat could be felt in Joe’s hair. “I know. And I lament it all, just the same. But my heart…”

Nicky’s hand dropped then to rest against Joe’s chest, over his heart.

“So many books _will be written_ , so many songs _will be sung_ because you were there to take a bullet, a grenade, a bayonet. So many lives saved because of you…”

“And you,” Joe interrupted, helpless against the smile that bubbled up despite the roiling rage. “And Andy, and Book… and _Quynh._ ”

“Sì, amore mio. All of us. You must think of the good, of the lives saved, not the ones lost. It stings, I know it does. Believe me, I feel it every day. And sometimes it overwhelms me…”

He trailed off, and Joe just knew he was thinking of the previous day, of his breakdown in their bed. Joe shifted, reaching up to grip Nicky’s wrist where it was still pressed to his chest, pressing his thumb to the pulse point and hoping Nicky was reassured by his touch as much as he was by Nicky’s.

“And it’s okay to feel like a drop in the ocean, a single ripple against a tidal wave. But know that your single ripple can change tides on the other side of the planet. A year from now, a decade… something magnificent will come into this world _only_ because you were there to sew those seeds. And I will be there, Yusuf, watching the brilliance, and I will tell you _I told you so.”_

Joe laughed, not realizing how badly he needed to laugh until it was echoing off the cliff face.

He settled, nuzzling up against Nicky and sighing, a feeling of relaxation beginning to creep over the former anger like winter frost.

“And you call me a poet,” Joe muttered, squeezing Nicky’s wrist.

That night they made love under the stars; Joe’s hands braced against the railing of their hotel terrace, terry cloth bath robe rucked up his back, as Nicky adoringly and thoroughly pounded into him, his fingers in Joe’s mouth and his cock buried in his ass. Nicky was exceptionally measured, moving at an almost tantric tempo, until Joe was a blubbering mess and fighting against his impulse to scream into the night how madly he loved Nicky.

It came in waves, waves that seemed perfectly synchronized in harmonious contrast to each other; when Nicky broke down, collapsing to the floor of their hotel room and reliving a particularly gruesome incident (whether it be cannon balls severing limbs or gunshots tearing through flesh), Joe was there to cradle him, whisper to him, read to him. And when Joe froze up, in the middle of a seemingly innocuous interaction at the bakery, a single word having sent his mind years into the past, Nicky was there to whisk him away, to wherever the nearest private space was, holding Joe against him as he shook apart, stroking his back until he calmed enough to walk back to the seclusion of their hotel.

It went on like this for nearly a month, the wounds to their psyches making themselves known, painfully at times, before they were inevitably taking solace in each other, sewing back together those gaping holes with gentle touches and life-altering ecstasy.

And one crisp morning, the air stained with petrichor and wildflowers, when Nicky trudged to the phone, dialed Andromache, and said brokenly, after full minutes of silence, _“I miss you,”_ that was when Joe knew their time here was done.

They planned to leave the following day, making arrangements for a ferry to Pozzallo, but Joe decided he wasn’t _quite_ done healing his love.

They ordered room service for the final meal of their stay, splurging on their favorite Maghrebi and Italian cuisine and feeding it to each other without a care in the world.

* * *

Joe pulled out all the stops; he lit cinnamon spice candles all around their room (because he knew they reminded Nicky of the early days, in market halls in Ifriqiya), he read erotic poetry, he even found excuses to disregard more and more clothing (“wallah! It must be those candles, I’m getting a little _warm..._ think I’ll just take my shirt off”).

Nicky just snorted at him, endlessly endeared by the fact that, even after 800+ years, Joe was still trying so hard to charm him. And he’d told Joe many, _many times_ that he could saunter in with a beer gut, pomodoro sauce in his beard, and holes in his clothing, and Nicky would still find him the most beautiful specimen on the planet. “That will not deter me from wooing you, Nicolò!” Joe always replied, usually coupling it with a wink or a pinch to the ass.

“I will miss it here,” Nicky said, eyes wandering to the open patio doors and ears trained on the distant sounds of crashing waves. Sometimes he found himself wondering if two like them could even “retire”; seeking out somewhere familiar but isolated, build a home together, ignore the cogs of war, and just _be._ But then again, they’d tried that once before, a long, _long_ time ago, and the cogs of war always inevitably _found them._ That, and he knew their hearts would begin to yearn for the fulfillment of _helping_ , of putting this gift to good use (better use than, say, staying in bed for days on end and fucking until they collapsed).

“We can always come back,” Joe said sweetly as he removed the rest of his clothes.

It had gone unspoken, after they finished their meal, lounged for a bit, then brushed their teeth and prepared for bed— _this is our last night, let’s make the most of it._

“This is true,” Nicky agreed, not bothering to temper his hungry eyes as they washed over Joe’s body, digging into every curve and bony angle like pure sunlight.

Nicky finished removing his own clothes and approached, raising a hand to cup Joe’s neck as Joe’s thick, warm palms came to rest on Nicky’s waist.

“It doesn’t have to be here,” he went on, leaning in to speak so close to Joe’s face that their lips brushed in a semblance of a teasing kiss. “It could be anywhere; the snowy alps of Switzerland, the flat plains of the Serengeti, the steel high-rises in New York...”

Joe’s eyes went lidded, his gaze locked onto Nicky’s lips as he spoke.

“As long as it’s you...” Nicky said, finally closing that last distance and pecking a very brief, unsatisfying kiss to Joe’s wet and waiting lips. Joe tried to follow as he pulled back to continue speaking, and Nicky let him, simply speaking against his lips again.

“As long as it’s _us,”_ he went on, sneaking another stolen kiss. “Then I’m home.”

Joe’s smile was radiant, his eyes outshining the dancing candles, the starry sky, the glittering moon.

Joe didn’t respond; just used his whole body to walk Nicky backwards toward the bed, their semi-hard lengths touching and making both of them whine into the kiss. Just as the backs of Nicky’s knees contacted the bed, Joe moved to cradle behind his neck and mid-back, lowering him down reverently until he was flat out, ass on the very edge and legs wrapped loosely around Joe’s hips. Luckily, it was a relatively high mattress, so he only needed a single pillow beneath his own hips to raise him up to the perfect height.

Nicky watched with hawklike rapt attention as Joe reached to the nightstand and retrieved the vial of oil (it was nearly empty now—a testament to just how crazed with love and lust they’d been for the last month) and, to Nicky’s slight surprise, the little black plug.

Joe held Nicky’s gaze as he overturned the vial and let it dribble out to completely coat the plug, and Nicky felt a flash of intense heat down his chest as he realized Joe meant to open him up on the plug alone.

“Have I told you how much I love your thighs, Nicolò?”

Nicky’s reply was immediately cut off as Joe started massaging the plug up and down Nicky’s ass, teasing over his rim and up to his balls, letting the oil drip back down to his hole.

Nicky swallowed hard, willing himself back under control as his hips jumped and his throat closed up at the tease.

“ _O_... only a million and a half times,” he teased back, reaching for a pillow and propping it beneath his head so he wouldn’t have to crane so hard to look at Joe.

“Half?” Joe smiled, teasing the plug back over Nicky’s rim but still not pushing it inside.

Nicky didn’t reply, only bit his lip suggestively and raised an eyebrow. Judging by the flat, charged expression that fell over Joe’s face, he was thinking back on any number of times where he’d been so overwhelmed that he didn’t finish a sentiment. The one that came to Nicky’s mind was at a safe house in Vladivostok; they’d been one room over from Andy and Booker, with thin walls and not a single door separating them. Joe had kissed the back of Nicky’s neck as he pulled his loose pajama pants down, slicking himself with spit and sliding his hard cock between Nicky’s tightly clenched thighs. They’d had to be extremely discreet, with Joe biting his cheek and tongue to keep from moaning, but he hadn’t been able to keep the whispered words at bay; _“God, Nicky, how I adore these thighs of yours. So strong and thick, they’re so...”_

He hadn’t finished. Well, actually he had. Explosively. But he hadn’t finished _the sentence._

Nicky jumped back to reality with a yelp as the plug finally began pushing against his rim, Joe barely gyrating it to near-vibration and making Nicky grip the sheets, hard.

The flare of the plug made it a completely different experience; starting small and working up wider and wider in such a short amount of time. It wasn’t painful, per se, but much more intense than fingers alone.

Although Nicky didn’t register making a noise, he must have, and one that was mildly alarming, because Joe immediately froze, his hand soothing down Nicky’s thigh as he asked, tender and worried, “mia luna?”

Nicky scrambled to get a hand on Joe, finding his wrist and grasping it in reassurance.

“ _Tuttobenetuttobene,”_ he slurred, adjusting himself on the pillow. “Just surprised me, is all. Keep going. I’m okay.”

Joe hummed his approval, starting up again, but much slower.

“Well allow me to tell you again,” Joe said, diving right back into the flow of verbal play, beginning to pump the plug again.

Nicky garbled as he felt himself stretching to accommodate the plug, then closing around its base, and stretching again as Joe gently pumped it in and out. The lingering buzz from the wine and the pressure of the plug made his head spin, and he worked to even out his breathing, lest Joe worry. Such a worrier, Joe.

“They’re like pillars, the only pillars of faith I’ll ever pray to again,” Joe went on, his free hand caressing up and down Nicky’s left thigh, cupping at the juncture of his hip, then back up to his knee. “So strong and unshakeable, no matter if they are clenched around my head or my hips. And I love the way I can make them _quiver...”_

With that, Joe pushed the plug all the way inside, his thumb beginning to rub in gentle pressured circles against that lovely spot just behind Nicky’s balls.

Nicky hummed and relaxed into it, allowing his legs to fall open slightly, and when he did, Joe suddenly dropped to his knees, maneuvering Nicky’s legs to rest over his shoulders.

“Yusuf _... fuck!”_ Nicky practically yelled, throwing his head back into the pillow as, without preamble, Joe was sucking on the head of his cock.

One hand controlling the plug, Joe was free to pull Nicky’s foreskin back with the other, and then his hot, slick tongue was playing over the underside, and if Nicky hadn’t been fully hard a moment ago, he definitely was now.

The plug was nothing but a tease; not remotely long enough to stimulate Nicky’s prostate, and only serving to make him wish it was Joe, his thick cock spearing him open. And Joe was only playing with the head, not giving Nicky the deep, hot depth of his mouth, his throat. It was all a tease, not even close to enough, but keeping Nicky painfully interested and on edge.

“Yusuf... _per favore_...” Nicky begged, heels digging into Joe’s back as he was helpless against using them to try to get Joe’s mouth on more of him. Of course, Joe pulled back, ensuring his attentions stayed just at the tip, and Nicky let out a growl of frustration, migrating a hand into Joe’s curls and gripping for purchase.

It was then that Joe closed his fist around the base of Nicky’s cock, pulling up toward his lips. His many silver rings were a bite of cold against Nicky’s sensitive skin, and Nicky groaned, rolling his hips with the motion and feeling himself warm at the sound of Joe’s salacious sucking.

Finally, as an artist steps back to appraise a well-marked canvas, Joe released him and stood, hooking one of Nicky’s ankles over his shoulder and wrapping the other around his waist. He met Nicky’s eyes, playfully tossing the plug to the floor with a _thunk,_ and Nicky couldn’t help but giggle as he reached down to grab Joe’s hip and urge him forward.

Joe went willingly, tipping his impressively hard cock down to the right angle with a thumb and nudging at Nicky’s hole.

“I still remember the first time we did this, Nicolò,” Joe cooed as he barely pushed inside and paused to thrust just the tip through Nicky’s pliant rim. Nicky shuddered a gasp, gripping Joe’s ass so hard he was sure he scratched him with his fingernails. “Like it was yesterday. I was so scared I would hurt you...”

He pushed further inside, about halfway, repeating the tight, jerky thrusts and making Nicky squirm.

“And yet you regarded me with such tenderness... as you would a baby bird fallen from the ne... _oh God!”_ Nickywas cut off as Joe pushed farther inside, past where he’d been relaxed by the plug, and the stretch around Joe’s heavenly cock was mind-numbingly good.

“Yes...” Joe agreed, his hand on Nicky’s thigh still caressing up and down, the tickling sensation of it going straight to Nicky’s cock and making him twitch. “Little did I know you could take so much, _so beautifully...”_

With that, Joe slid all the way home, and a sound of luxuriating relief left his lips.

“And even after all this time, I can still make your toes curl...” he said, and Nicky opened his eyes to look up at Joe as he turned his head and kissed Nicky’s ankle where it was propped on his shoulder.

Joe was, to put it mildly, a masterpiece like this; his skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat and glimmering in the dancing orange candlelight, his eyes beginning to roll back slightly as he bent his knees to deliver rolling thrusts that had Nicky gripping the sheets to contend with the drag of his cock ever-so-slowly in and out.

Joe adjusted his grip of Nicky’s thigh until it was kneading at the juncture of his hip, pulling him toward the edge of the bed and harder onto his cock.

“Yes, Yusuf... please... _harder..._ ” Nicky pleaded, arching off the bed and reaching blindly for Joe’s hand. Of course he found it, as Joe immediately provided it, and threaded their fingers together.

It only served to give Joe another point of leverage, and he used it; pulling Nicky down on his cock with his leg and hand, minutely speeding up his strokes.

So lost in the haze was Nicky that he didn’t even notice when Joe’s hand left his thigh, but he definitely noticed the dribble of oil onto his neglected cock.

Joe didn’t immediately touch; he simply kept moving, capping the oil once more and continuing to grip Nicky’s hand. Just when Nicky was about to start begging, Joe pulled all the way out—but he compensated by grasping Nicky’s cock tightly, and jerked at him hard and fast.

The heat that had been slowly pooling in Nicky’s gut ratcheted up to 9, and he arched off the bed with a hiss, Joe’s practiced fist twisting at the tip and then slamming back down against Nicky’s tightening balls.

“ _Yes, fuck, Yusuf, yes!_ ” Nicky practically cried, absently humping up into Joe’s fist.

“That’s it, baby,” Joe cooed, and his words were like warm honey trickling down Nicky’s throat. “Use my hand.”

Nicky did, something in his mind wishing to complain about him having pulled out, but it was lost beneath the blanket of building arousal.

Just as he was beginning to feel his climax building, Joe abandoned his cock, releasing it so fast that it slapped back to Nicky’s belly, sending a jolt of pleasure/pain up his spine—just enough pain to ensure that the building orgasm simmered back down.

“ _Yusuuuff_ ,” Nicky whined, moving the hand that wasn’t joined with Joe’s to grip himself.

Joe stopped him, grabbing his hand and, in one fell swoop, leaning down far enough to take Nicky’s fingers into his mouth as he shoved his cock back inside, to the hilt.

The sound that tore from Nicky’s throat, completely unbidden, was feral—a groan of satisfaction and frustration that had Joe smiling around Nicky’s fingers as he began to tongue and suck at them.

Nicky watched hungrily as Joe began to move again, groaning around Nicky’s fingers and bringing Nicky’s other hand up to pin above his head.

An idea struck Nicky then, and he tried his best to hide the involuntary grin of mischief that he just _knew_ he was guilty of. Whether Joe saw it was irrelevant; he allowed Nicky to pull his fingers free, and Nicky bit his lip seductively as he lowered the spit-wet digits to Joe’s left nipple, and started circling it lazily.

Joe lost his rhythm, but Nicky didn’t care in the slightest, as the look of sheer bliss that befell Joe, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, made him nearly mad with want. Joe’s nipple began to peak under Nicky’s attentions and, knowing how much it drove him absolutely wild, he migrated to the other one.

Joe inhaled through his teeth—a sound he often made when beholding beautiful art, breathtaking sunsets—and soon enough he was pushing all the way down for a rough, demanding kiss, bending Nicky almost in half in the process. It allowed him to drive even deeper, and Nicky moaned loudly into the kiss as he felt Joe’s cock penetrating almost to the second hole.

Joe kissed him languidly for only a few good thrusts before he was pulling back suddenly, maneuvering Nicky’s hand on his nipple up to join his other above his head, firmly holding them there with a strong, lean hand and nearly all of his weight. Just out of curiosity, Nicky tested his hold, pulling slightly against it, and that was when Joe hollowed out his back, pulling all the way out again.

Now, Nicky understood; Joe was alternating between fucking him and jerking him off, dragging it out and only giving Nicky half of what he really wanted at any given time.

“ _Yusuf_...” Nicky practically sobbed as Joe did exactly that; his free hand disappearing from Nicky’s periphery and gripping Nicky’s cock at the base. He started up the brutal pace again, stroking hard and fast, the webbing of his hand catching deliciously on the swollen ridge of Nicky’s cock head.

“Tell me,” Joe whispered, his voice so soft and sensual that Nicky swore he felt himself get impossibly harder.

“Please, Yusuf, I want… _need_ you inside me...” Nicky groused, knowing it sounded whiny and petulant.

“Alright,” Joe said agreeably, but yet again he dropped Nicky’s cock, reaching to line up and push back inside.

Nicky tensed with charged irritation, pushing his head back into the pillow in a gesture he hoped said _“you teasing bastard.”_

Joe seized the opportunity, bowing his head to lick, suck, and bite at Nicky’s neck. Nicky’s leg jostled where it was pushed up to his chest, Joe ramming into him and almost making him lose his breath.

“You know what I meant,” Nicky pleaded, clutching at Joe’s hand that still pinned him. “Touch me...”

He didn’t even get the opportunity to add _while you fuck me,_ because Joe had already pulled out again and grabbed his cock. He didn’t jerk at him this time, merely pulsated the pressure of his fist and swiped his thumb over the head.

Nicky howled. It was supposed to be Joe’s name. It might have been. It also might have been a language long-since dead, an ancient plea known only to kings and warriors.

“Come on baby _, tell me_ ,” uttered Joe, the embodiment of coy.

Nicky was completely unsure of his ability to speak, so he simply breathed for a moment, hyping himself up to give it a single, desperate try.

And he did; yanking a hand free of Joe’s hold, grabbing him by his jaw, forcing his gaze, and growling,

“Fuck me _while you touch me_. Give me everything, amore mio.”

Joe’s face melted from demure to knowing and devilish, and he slammed his lips to Nicky’s, Nicky’s hand still encompassing his mandible, and inhaled hard through his nose, as if he was drinking in Nicky’s essence, his life-force. And he might have been... but Nicky would much prefer he take it _a different way._

“It’s yours,” Joe murmured, releasing Nicky’s other hand, shrugging Nicky’s ankle from his shoulder, and positioning both of Nicky’s legs firmly around his waist. “Always has been...”

He took himself in hand again, lined back up, and slipped back inside, making sure to stroke Nicky’s cock as he did.

“Always will be.”

Nicky released a series of tight, punched-out breaths as the sensations quickly overwhelmed him; Joe was thrusting shallowly now, beginning to angle perfectly up into Nicky’s prostate, and coupled with his luxurious, sinful strokes of Nicky’s painfully hard cock—it was good, so, so good.

“ _Yes, Yusuf, please, please don’t stop_...” Nicky urged him, reaching for the edge of the bed and gripping it so that he could ensure Joe’s strokes hit home.

Joe’s mouth was hanging open in ecstasy, and his thighs had begun to quake—tells of his impending release. Nicky couldn’t deny that he was close too, Joe’s quick tugs on his cock sending him closer, closer...

“Wouldn’t... _uhn... dream of it..._ ” Joe moaned, his hips gaining momentum.

Even before it hit, Nicky knew it was going to be a powerful orgasm—he could feel it building and building and building, his whole lower half spasming and heat blooming hot in his gut.

“Fuck, Yusuf, I’m... gunna come...” he cried, releasing the edge of the bed and grabbing both of Joe’s wrists with desperation.

He’d been right; his climax hit him like a freight train, his come streaking all up his chest and onto his neck as Joe continued to work him, and he could feel himself tightening in rhythmic contractions around Joe’s length.

“Oh, _shit, Nicolò_...” was all the warning Joe was able to give before he was thrusting all the way inside, his hips contacting Nicky’s thighs as he stilled, his cock throbbing and spilling deep within.

Nicky loved watching this moment—that look of absolution befalling Joe’s heavenly face as his hips gave aborted little thrusts in the aftermath. His skin still shined with sweat, and Nicky yearned to just _lick him clean, every inch..._

“Fuck, Nicky... how...” Joe panted, his throat clicking as he swallowed, head lolling a bit. “How is it always so good?”

Nicky rubbed his wrist, wrapping his thumb around to find the rapid pulse point again.

 _I did that,_ he thought, still giddy at the notion that he could get Joe this worked up after 800+ years.

“Because you know me,” Nicky replied, his throat dry and in need of water after all the panting. “And I, you.”

“Inside and out,” Joe replied with a smile, and then he was canting his hips to pull out.

Nicky shivered to feel the flared head of Joe’s softening cock drag against him and pop loose, and within seconds Joe had collapsed onto his elbows, his lips pressing lazily against Nicky’s.

“You are my North Star, Nicolò,” he breathed against Nicky’s lips, and Nicky noted a hint of something gravely serious in his tone. “Whenever I feel lost... and I have been, _oh I have been_... you guide me back, guide me home. I am centered, because you led me. I am whole, because you crafted me. And I can never learn enough languages to adequately say _thank you.”_

Nicky grinned, tears springing to his eyes at the gravity of the words—he’d felt the same. These wars, this viciousness... it had fractured both of them. And while those particular wounds would never quite heal, now... now they were merely fading scars, because they’d healed each other.

Nicky swiped Joe’s dangling curls aside and cupped his face.

“Nor will I,” he said, pecking a quick kiss before he spoke again. “So this will have to do.”

He kissed him soundly this time, until his head spun and his lungs burned for breath.

When at last Joe had to pull back for air, he giggled lightly as he lovingly buried his fingers in Nicky’s hair. “S’getting long,” he said, words slurred with dulling pleasure.

Nicky smiled, returning the gesture and recalling the very first time he’d caressed those curls; Joe had been killed by bandits, and as Nicky waited for him to return, panic suffusing his entire body, he’d taken the opportunity to do what he’d been fiercely longing to do to a conscious Joe—he slid his fingers into Joe’s lovely, soft curls, and whispered _come back to me, please._

“Yours too,” was all Nicky said, because thoughts of death, of loss, had no place here.

Joe just nodded, his eyes trailing down Nicky’s face to his neck and chest, and then a finger was tracing through the come there, making Nicky shudder.

“We will need to take another shower,” Joe said, his cavelike eyes piercing Nicky to his core.

“Oh, how _ever_ will we manage?!” Nicky said dramatically, and Joe laughed with him, caressing down his ribs and kissing him one more time before looping an arm beneath Nicky’s shoulders and hauling him up.

* * *

It was certainly bittersweet, wrapping up their affairs here and deciding to regroup with Andy and Booker in Greece. After all, they’d only been here a month, and they’d spent most of it ignoring their cares and taking solace in each other. But that had been the point all along, to return to their center, their one singular point of gravity; their unending love for one another. And to that end, at least, they’d been successful.

Joe felt lighter, not just physically, but emotionally unburdened, as he and Nicky boarded the ferry back to the mainland, duffel bags (with hidden swords inside) slung over their shoulders. He knew it was going to be hard, knew there would be more wars to come, more deaths and more losses to contend with. But, as he joined Nicky at the bow and subtly wove their fingers together on the railing, he knew they would tackle it. Together.

Always.

**Author's Note:**

> A note: consent is implied on the more BDSM and D/S stuff they're doing. They would have had this conversation whenever they began working bondage/denial/edging/toys into their sex life, and they know what the other is okay with, and what they're not. They still have their word though, just in case anything changes.


End file.
